I was going to write about all of the heavy thoughts I’ve been mulling over since the election this past Tuesday and about how at a time like this I would normally feel like jumping up and down, waving flags and celebrating with sheer joy at the outcome, but I have not done that. Outside of shedding a few tears of complete relief, I have worried more about those whose votes did not gain them what I have heard described as “their” president in office come next January and not “mine.”
That because I voted the way I chose to, I will soon expect free things! Imagine. That by suggestion, I am not someone who thinks critically about anything of importance — instead wants only to soothe and protect, keep safe from harsh realities of the world with no plan about where the cost of that protection comes from other than from a more knowledgeable “daddy” who has all the correct answers about everything — including what I should do with my body. That I am “intimidated” by others’ difference of opinion and therefore incapable of responding to it. I know this is probably not making a lot of sense, but I’m so sincerely disgusted I cannot see straight.
As much as I’ve continued to make progress writing the draft of my novel each day for 10 days in celebration of NaNoWriMo (so very happy with myself!), I know my preoccupation with what has been said in so many places — in social media, in articles, by family members — about President Obama’s reelection has been intense. I do not enjoy giving negativity attention because that gives it energy, but it has been challenging to ignore — much like a child loudly throwing a tantrum in a public place. And although I have ignored it, it seems to have come directly to me. I’ve still resisted writing what I believe about it all — more than anything because it would take days to write it out and in that effort (something I discovered today as I tried to do just that) I’d end up realizing I was only defending myself and I have no need to do that.
The exercise gave me some peace of mind, but I know it won’t last long. So in the meantime, as much as others get up to go to work each day to occupy themselves with all that involves, I need to prove to myself that I can draft a novel.
17,371 words written in 10 days and 32, 629 to go by midnight, November 30.
That’s about 70 pages.